Whispers in Her Hair
by Indygodusk
Chapter 8: Second Year - Tom Riddle's Diary
Harry decided that he should copy Hermione and—unless a better opportunity presented itself—make his big apology gesture at the next Quidditch match of Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff next month. He didn't really want to wait anymore, but he needed the time to think up something good enough for her, something that would make her smile and know he was sincere, something amazing enough to earn her forgiveness after how long it had been.
While trying to brainstorm ideas with Blaise a few days later—his resident expert in making girls smile—they turned a corner and found themselves in a hallway flooding with water. The deluge seemed to be coming from beneath a familiar bathroom door.
"Isn't that Moaning Myrtle's bathroom?" Blaise asked, echoing Harry's thoughts.
"Let's go see what's going on," Harry said. It was better than listening to Blaise going on about flowers, chocolates, and poetry again.
They splashed forward and opened the bathroom door, releasing another wave of water which soaked them almost to their knees. Exchanging grimaces, they waded into the flooded bathroom.
"Myrtle? Are you in here?" Harry called, looking around for clues.
The gurgle and splash of water quieted for a moment, replaced by soft sniffles and sobs. Myrtle's ghostly figure appeared sitting curled up on a sink with her chin quivering. "Where else would I b—be?" she hiccuped.
"What's wrong?" Harry softened his voice and moved closer. "Are you okay?"
"I didn't know ghosts could get so upset," Blaise said just as Myrtle opened her mouth to answer.
"Well how rude!" Myrtle huffed, wiping her face. "Ghosts still have feelings. We're not dead!" She growled.
Harry and Blaise stared at her for a moment before exchanging a confused look.
"We-ll," scrunching up her nose, Myrtle twirled a pigtail, "we are dead, but it still hurts when people are mean. I mean, my body may have died, but my feelings are very much alive." She pouted and crossed her arms, turning her head away and sniffling.
Putting a hand on his chest, Blaise leaned forward with a gentle, practiced smile. "A beautiful girl like you should never waste her time with tears. Your face is made for smiles, your eyes for laughter. Come sei carina!"
Girls always loved the Italian. Blaise could be calling them a meatball head and as long as it was in Italian they'd just smile and simper. It made Harry a bit sick, even if Blaise was his best friend.
Sure enough, a shy smile appeared on Myrtle's face and her hunched posture straightened, unfurling like a flower in the sun of Blaise's compliments. Biting her lip, she tucked her chin into her shoulder and giggled. "Oh, you're a sweet one. Blaise was it? Do you like older women?" She batted her eyelashes at him.
When Blaise just upped the wattage of his smile, Harry almost threw up in his mouth. "I'm sorry someone hurt your feelings," Harry said, extremely uninterested in watching the two of them flirt. "Is…" he looked around at the still flooded bathroom, "is there anything we can do to help?"
Myrtle turned her wide-eyed look on Harry and floated closer until she was almost touching him. "Oh, you're sweet too, Harry," she cooed and smiled hopefully.
"Thanks," Harry said, leaning back but trying not to look like he was leaning back. He wanted to help her, but not if it meant flirting. "So the flooding?"
Sighing, Myrtle floated back to sit on the top of a bathroom stall, crossing her legs and swinging them. "Well you see, I was just sitting in the pipes thinking about death as I like to do—there are a lot of big pipes around this bathroom but they've been busy and scary lately so I've had to restrict myself to the smaller pipes leading down from the toilets." Blinking down at them, she pouted. "Which isn't really fair. Just because I'm a ghost and don't take up any room doesn't mean I should have to be stuck in the smallest pipes." She sniffled and wiped her face. "I mean, I like the u-bend but not when people are throwing things through my head!" She started to wail, throwing an arm over her face and pointing dramatically to the stall beneath her feet. "Especially a big pointy book! Thrown right through my head! It was so mean!"
"I'm sorry, Myrtle," Harry said as the sink faucets started spewing tall fountains of water again in response to her upset. His glasses were getting too spattered to see clearly so Harry cast his new Quidditch charms on himself and then on Blaise, trying to hide the movements from Myrtle so she didn't get offended. Soon he became more comfortable and better able to see as his glasses cleared and the water started bouncing off him like rain from an umbrella. Unfortunately his robes still clung uncomfortably since they'd started out wet and the charms weren't made for drying, just for keeping rain out in the first place.
"You deserve much better," Blaise said gallantly.
"I do. You're right," Myrtle nodded and wiped her cheeks with her arm.
"You are obviously as brave as you are beautiful, cara," Blaise said, putting an Italian lilt into his sentence that made Myrtle bite her lip on a smile and giggle. The sinks stopped spewing water and the drain started gurgling away again, trying to drain the small lake covering Harry's shoes.
"Oh, you think I'm brave? No one's ever said anything like that before." A smile lifted her cheeks and brightened her eyes. "I like that. Brave Myrtle the beautiful." She threw back her head and gave a happy laugh, ending on a hiccup.
"You are brave." Harry wanted to keep her good mood, but he was more about actions than pretty words like Blaise. "Here, let me get rid of it for you." Moving into the bathroom stall, Harry fished a thin book out of the toilet and shook it a few times to get rid of the water. It must have some serious preservation charms on it because within seconds it was dry. The book looked familiar, but Harry didn't have time to examine it. He shoved it into his bag so Myrtle wouldn't see it and get upset again as he came out of the stall. "I'll take this somewhere else. Feel better, Myrtle."
"Alas, we must take our leave." Blaise stepped back towards the door and held it open for Harry.
"Come back again any time!" Myrtle called, waving with a little giggle, once more all smiles. "I get lonely!"
"Bye," said Harry as he and Blaise escaped into the hall.
-oo0oo-
That evening Harry went to the library to finish his Transfiguration essay, hoping he'd see Hermione there and get his tongue untangled enough to talk, hoping he'd be inspired to figure out the details of his big gesture. Unfortunately by the time he got there, she was at one of the big group tables usually used by tutoring Prefects, the ones with the built-in silencing charms that you had to reserve in advance with Madam Pince. She was standing up and in the middle of explaining something to a group of first years that included the Weasley girl. Winnie? No, Ginny, that was it.
Harry's eyes were drawn back to Hermione as her hands flew through the air and her hair bounced with enthusiasm for the topic she was explaining. He missed being close to that enthusiasm. He missed talking with his friend.
Hermione looked up, eyes widening and words faltering at seeing him standing across the room staring at her. She drew in a deep breath as their eyes met for a searing moment. Everything else fell away. Harry took a step forward, heart thumping madly in his chest, only for Ginny to stand up and tug on Hermione's sleeve insistently, pointing down at a line in a book and breaking the moment.
Sighing, Hermione looked down and returned to her explanation, though with not quite as much excitement as before. Ginny asked something else and Hermione began reading over a paragraph written on Ginny's scroll. As soon as Hermione was distracted, Ginny pushed back her shoulders and tried to catch Harry's eye with a smile uncomfortably similar to the one on Moaning Myrtle's face just a few hours earlier.
Avoiding Ginny's eyes, Harry turned and left to go study in an abandoned classroom. He wouldn't be able to focus with Hermione across the room like that anyway. Not until things were no longer awkward and unfinished between them.
In his mind he heard a voice say, "Coward. No wonder Godric Gryffindor didn't want you in his house."
Clenching his fists, Harry told the voice to stuff it. He was going to be both brave and cunning. Yes his apology was late, but so what? Better late than never. At least it wasn't going to be lame or half-hearted. When he apologized to Hermione, it was going to be so amazing she'd never forget it. So amazing that she'd be happy to forgive him. So amazing that she'd know he'd never do anything like that ever again.
He just had to figure out what it was going to be first.
-oo0oo-
It was cold in the castle, Harry's breath steaming as he walked down a side corridor and fogging his glasses annoyingly. Warming his hands in his thick green and silver scarf, he turned into one of the first classrooms he found unused and pulled a desk up to the fireplace with a screech of the legs dragging across the floor. Fresh logs sat on the grate in the hearth. Waving his wand, Harry got a fire going in seconds. It felt good against his half-frozen fingertips. He stood in front of it for a minute or two, rotating himself like a chicken on a spit until he felt warm enough to start working but not so warm he'd fall asleep (it was a fine line when doing homework).
Reaching into his bag, Harry meant to pull out his Transfiguration textbook. Instead, he found himself holding the mystery book he'd taken out of Myrtle's toilet. There was no title, but on the inside flap the name Tom Marvolo Riddle was written in precise penmanship. The name sounded familiar, like he'd read it somewhere before, but he couldn't remember where. Perhaps in a textbook or the trophy room? Harry flipped through the book, but all of the pages were blank. It smelled strangely off-putting, not like the usual sweet and musty smell of old pages but sharp and faintly copperish, like having an ink-dipped quill scratch a bloody line across your lip. The scent clung to the inside of his nose and mouth, overpowering the pungent smoke from the fire.
He should put the mystery book away and focus on writing his essay, but even as he thought it he watched with a strange disconnect as his hands uncapped his inkwell, dipped his quill, and wrote on the first page, "Hello, my name is Harry Potter." He felt stupid until the words disappeared and, seconds later, new words replaced them.
"Hello, Harry. My name is Tom Riddle and this is my diary. How do you do?"
He gave a wondering smile. Magic really was neat. Harry scooted closer to the desk and started writing back and forth with the mysterious Tom. The other boy was kind and charming and felt like someone he could ask anything. Tom wanted to know all about Harry and Harry found himself writing things he normally wouldn't say out loud. Tom was just so sympathetic and understanding. Harry told himself that if things got weird he could just stop writing in the diary, though he didn't want to stop. Writing to Tom felt important and compelling.
It wasn't long before Harry found himself asking if Tom knew anything about the Chamber of Secrets.
"Yes," Tom's answer appeared quickly. "Let me show you."
Harry found himself sucked into a vision of Hogwarts from fifty years ago. Tom turned out to be a tall, dark-haired, and confident-looking sixth year wearing a Slytherin Prefect badge. Harry followed Tom as he walked through the school and came across a group of distressed-looking teachers, including a younger Albus Dumbledore, standing outside Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. They were discussing how Miss Warren had been killed and that with the killer still on the loose they were going to have to close the school and send all of the students home early.
Tom looked upset and then coldly determined. He talked briefly with Dumbledore before leaving.
Harry realized with a pang that this must've been how poor Moaning Myrtle died. No, not Moaning Myrtle—Myrtle Warren. Hopefully it had been quick and painless since her ghostly body wasn't covered in blood like the Bloody Baron and she didn't have a mostly severed head like Nearly Headless Nick, much less bite marks or torn off limbs from some crazed creature. Nevertheless, painful death or not, her life was still over.
Marching through the castle and up several flights of stairs, Tom drew his wand and burst into a small attic room. When a familiar young half-giant leaped to his feet in front of a nest box, Harry was shocked. Tom disarmed him and held him at wand point. "Hagrid, one of your monstrous little pets has murdered someone. You're going to take responsibility so the school doesn't close. I'm going to kill that thing. Move aside."
Hagrid refused, denying Tom's words and rushing Tom in an attempt to protect his friend. In the chaos that followed a large spider escaped the room and ran away down the hall. Disbelieving, Harry watched as Tom subdued Hagrid and turned him over to a Headmaster Dippet for punishment (Dumbledore was still only a Professor). Hagrid's continuing loud denials were ignored. Everyone knew the half-giant consorted with monsters. Tom had caught him red-handed after all. To both Headmaster Dippet and Tom Riddle, Hagrid's guilt was clear.
Falling out of the memory, Harry slammed the diary shut. He didn't want to believe it, not of Hagrid. He wouldn't kill an innocent person or order one of his pets to do so. Hagrid had too kind a heart. He wouldn't have killed anyone… at least, not on purpose. Hagrid did have a soft spot for scary and dangerous creatures. Fluffy the cerberus and Norbert the dragon were probably just the tip of the iceberg.
Harry could reluctantly believe that one of Hagrid's creatures might've done it, though if it had been that same spider from the memory, shouldn't it be dead after fifty years? And if Hagrid knew about it, shouldn't he have told Dumbledore as soon as this started up again? Though Dumbledore was also at the school the last time the Chamber was opened. Shouldn't he have talked to Hagrid first thing after finding the message on the wall? Maybe he had and then cleared Hagrid of any blame. Why else would Hagrid still be around?
No, Hagrid had to be innocent. Besides, there was no way Hagrid would be attacking muggleborns. He wasn't prejudiced and had flat-out told Hermione last year that only stupid people thought less of muggleborn witches and wizards and to ignore the unkind words. Hagrid had given Harry the only birthday cake he could remember and cried over a baby dragon being born. Harry couldn't see Hagrid standing by and letting people be hurt if he knew how to stop it.
On top of that, if Hagrid knew what was going on he would've spilled the beans ages ago; he couldn't keep a secret to save his life. No, if Hagrid or Dumbledore could've used their knowledge of what happened back then to help people now, they already would have. Dumbledore wouldn't have missed something so obvious.
Harry tapped the diary against his chin. He found the scent of it enticing and pleasant now, not strange or off-putting at all. He wanted to open it again, breathe in deeply, and keep writing to Tom, the epitome of a Slytherin.
A log spat loudly and shifted in the fireplace, causing Harry's head to jerk up as if breaking him from a spell. Shaking his head sharply, he was surprised to see the diary cracked open again and his quill poised above the page. Flinging the quill down, he sat back with a huff. What was he doing? His head was already full of too many new things to think about without adding even more to it right now.
Besides, Tom was only a memory from fifty years ago, not a solution to the school's current difficulties. He didn't know the things Harry most wanted answers for, like what Hagrid had been thinking back then and what he was thinking now, much less what exactly was petrifying muggleborns, a cat, and a ghost. Harry would have to set aside some time to sneak out and talk to Hagrid.
The tolling of the clocktower jolted Harry from his thoughts and made him realize he had the quill poised above the open diary again. He didn't remember picking the quill up again. Weird. Nevertheless, curfew was starting soon and he still hadn't finished his stupid essay. That had to come first.
Grimacing, Harry shoved the diary back into his bag, forced his hand to unclench and drop it, and pulled out his Transfiguration essay and textbook. Homework was more urgent. Hagrid and the Chamber would keep.
By the time Harry had finished his essay, curfew had come and gone. Yawning wide enough to split his face, he banked the fire and left. He didn't have his invisibility cloak on him, but it wasn't too hard to dodge Mr. Filch without Mrs. Norris stalking around helping him.
Harry saw the Weasley twins sneaking into the History of Magic classroom. Probably setting up a prank. Not interested in exchanging insults, he snuck past them to get to the staircase leading to the dungeons and went down.
Two hallways away from his destination he turned a corner and ran into a pair of Prefects on rounds. Heart sinking, Harry froze only to realize that they were Slytherins. He released a gusty sigh and respectfully bowed his head, not lowering his eyes just in case they cast something at him while he was distracted. "Excuse me, I was finishing an essay and lost track of time. I'm sorry to bother you." Prefects were supposed to take points if they found you out late, but Slytherin Prefects didn't care if they caught a fellow house member out after curfew. He should be fine.
Should be didn't mean was.
"Give us a reason to leave you alone, Potter. I'm bored." Prefect Reyansh Ahuja fingered his wand and eyed Harry up and down. His black hair and golden-brown skin was set off by the bright gold embroidery on the high collar and long cuffs of the pale yellow tunic he wore under his robes. Ahuja was a power in Slytherin and notorious for doing just about anything to avoid boredom.
Harry hadn't intended on saying anything about what he'd seen earlier, but he wasn't risking his skin for Gryffindors, much less two weasels. "The Weasley twins are upstairs right now pranking the History of Magic classroom." He didn't like being a snitch, so he added, "Though it might be funnier to see what happens tomorrow instead of interrupting them now." He shrugged. "Your call, of course. You're the Prefects, not me."
"Hmm, we'll check it out," Ahuja said before jerking his chin to the side. "Get on back to Slytherin before one of the other patrols finds you and takes points."
Harry nodded. "Of course. Thank you." Showing respect and good manners to the upper years, especially those at the top of their house hierarchy, was always a good idea. Ahuja may be an arrogant jerk, but there was nothing to be gained by letting him know you thought that. Besides, he wasn't that bad compared with some of the others. He'd never jinxed Harry because Harry had never given him reason to. Most of the time Ahuja pretended Harry didn't even exist and Harry was fine with that.
On reaching the safety of the common room, Harry saw Blaise and eagerly pulled out the diary to get his friend's take on the situation. Harry explained how Tom talked back through the pages and that when the Chamber had been opened fifty years before, Moaning Myrtle had been the one to die and one of Hagrid's pets had been blamed for it. About to get a quill and demonstrate so Blaise could ask Tom questions too, Harry found the diary unexpectedly ripped out of his hands.
"What are you doing with my father's book?!" Draco demanded loudly, jaw clenched and brow beetled, holding the book in the air accusingly.
"What do you mean your father's book? I found it in Moaning Myrtle's toilet today with Blaise."
"He did," Blaise said quickly, looking back and forth between them with apprehension.
Harry scowled and tried to grab the book back, but Draco moved it out of reach. "It's mine," Harry said loudly.
"As if," Draco sneered. "I don't care where you found it, this is my father's book, the one I told you about a few months ago, the one that Weasley chit stole from him." Harry jerked, realizing why it had looked familiar as Draco added, "It belongs in the Malfoy library and I will be returning it to him."
"Wait wait wait, I remember that conversation," Blaise held up his hands. "You're saying that this is the book Harry saw your father slip to Ginny Weasley? Because if so, she didn't steal it, she was secretly given it and then, presumably, threw it away into the toilet. Harry found it fair and square."
While Draco was distracted glaring at Blaise, Harry reached out and snatched the book from Draco's grasp. "Finders keepers." He still had more questions for Tom; he wasn't letting the diary go. Turning, he ran from the room and through the hallways, circling around and back into the common room while they were looking the other direction, wiggling down into a small space between a couch and armchair and sliding his legs beneath the furniture to fit, pulling a throw blanket over the gap to further hide himself.
A minute later he heard Draco's voice. "Crabbe, Goyle, search the common room for Potter!" Luckily for Harry, no one thought to look between the furniture, just in front and behind. They finally gave up the search and went to bed. Harry dozed fitfully until all was quiet and then wiggled out and snuck back to his room, hiding the diary in his locked trunk. He was exhausted but feeling smug.
The next day he returned to his dorm room at lunch to switch out his textbooks, only to find the things in his trunk jumbled and the diary gone. "Draco! Where's my diary?!" Harry roared, turning to see Draco shoving Vincent and Greg in front of him as a protective wall.
"Since when do you have a diary?" Theo sneered with amusement in his voice as he leaned back against his bedpost and crossed his arms.
"None of your business," Harry snapped before turning back to Draco. "Well? Where is it?" His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. He'd draw his wand, but Vincent might think that too aggressive and attack. Three to one was piss poor odds, four to one if Theo joined in.
Examining his nails behind Vincent's back, Draco gave an overdone sigh. "There's no reason to be so dramatic. I retrieved it after you opened your trunk to get out some fresh clothes this morning. You forgot to secure the lid when Blaise started teasing you about tapestry Medusa again. The diary's halfway to my father by now, the rightful owner. If you're that sore about losing it I can buy you a new one. Being rich, I can easily buy you 365—one for every day of the year. Besides, magical objects that talk to you rarely do so for altruistic reasons. There's always a hidden agenda, even with dear old Tommy boy. Really, I was doing you a favor."
Gnashing his teeth, Harry snatched up his bag and stormed from the room before Draco suggested Harry thank him for the theft and made Harry lose all sense of self-preservation and attack him despite the odds. Harry had no interest in spending the night in the infirmary.
-oo0oo-
Harry and Draco stopped talking to each other. Again. Harry was fine with that. Who needed a thief for a friend anyway?
He distracted himself from the strife by narrowing down his plans for how to approach Hermione. He was done with being too proud. Done with procrastination. He wanted his friend back no matter what it took at this point, though Blasie's refrain of flowers, chocolates, poetry was too old and tired. It wasn't special enough.
Unfortunately, Hermione wasn't making it easy on him. He saw her noticing him lingering in the hall to talk to her after class, but she didn't detach herself from the Gryffindors and come over. She just sent him a challenging look and turned back to packing up her books or explaining something to Longbottom or Brown. It was pretty clear that a lazy apology would gain him nothing at this point and in fact might make her actively hostile.
Last year they used to sit together to watch Quidditch matches and he'd just assumed before their fallout that when he wasn't playing it would be the same way this year. Obviously it hadn't worked out that way. During the Hufflepuff vs. Ravenclaw game he'd been forced to stare at the back of her head instead of sitting next to her with only that flag-waving Hufflepuff boy cheering on his girlfriend to break him from his regrets. It hadn't been pleasant, though being humiliated and the fight that followed had certainly made the experience worse. In retrospect he probably should've hit Draco harder. Rewinding the memory back to when he was staring at Hermione's sunlit curls interspersed with the boy and his flapping yellow flag, Harry got an idea.
It was risky. There was a chance he might end up humiliating himself, but it would certainly prove his sincerity and be better than reciting a soppy poem. If it worked out the way he hoped, it would also show Hermione that he still cared about her. If he was extremely lucky, he might get away with making the offer without having to actually go through with it and earn a smile and a hug. He missed her hugs. He missed them enough that he was ready to humiliate himself for the privilege.
-oo0oo-
Moving between classes a couple of weeks later with Blaise as a buffer between him and Draco, Harry noticed Derrick and Bole lingering by the window on the right side of the hall up ahead. He nudged his group so they walked down the far side of the hall. Even a crowded corridor wasn't enough to protect him sometimes; it just made it harder to see where the jinx was coming from. Clenching his jaw, Harry kept his head down and tried to stay out of trouble.
"You're gonna be the next to die," Bole's voice cut through the chatter filling the hallway like a bludger. "No one wants you here, mudblood."
Palming his wand, Harry swung around only to see Bole and Derrick cornering little Halle Harper against the wall, too busy to even notice Harry. That explained the mudblood comment. Everyone in Slytherin had known Harry was a half-blood before Harry had even known it himself.
"C'mon, Harry," Blaise whispered uneasily, tugging on his arm. Harry shook him off. The corners of Draco's pale eyes looked tight but otherwise he watched the scene unemotionally. It made Harry mad. His heartbeat picked up.
Flat against the wall, the hair from her pigtails catching on the rough stone, Halle clutched her bag to her chest and stared up at Bole and Derrick with wide eyes and cheeks so pale that the freckles stood out like flecks of cinnamon on milk. The bright light reflecting off the snow outside gave her a faint glow that washed out her coloring in a way eerily similar to a ghost. She could be Moaning Myrtle's sister. The comparison made Harry uneasy.
The group of first and second year students sharing the hall with them moved past quickly, obviously not interested in helping someone who was a Slytherin. Only Ginny Weasley paused to stare. Her expression quickly morphed from shock into disgust, probably just as prejudiced against Slytherins as her older brothers.
"Tick tock, the monster's coming for you next." Derrick laughed low and mean as he loomed over Halle. Her eyes went wet and glassy as she shrank down and pressed her shoulders harder against the wall. "You don't belong here. Salazar Slytherin would turn over in his grave if he saw a mudblood like you wearing his colors. In fact, he probably opened the Chamber of Secrets just to fix that mistake, trying to get rid of you." Reaching out, Derrick ripped the green and silver scarf from her throat and tossed it to the floor, smiling at her cry of pain as the action wrenched her neck to the side.
"Hey, back off!" Harry snarled, batting away Blaise's restraining hands and shoving past Ginny so his wand had a clear shot at the bullies. Mentally he sifted through the spells he'd been learning in Viper school. "I said back off!"
Bole and Derrick exchanged a glance and then turned to face Harry with twin looks of disdain and superiority. "Or you'll do what, Potty? Call the monster in front of all of us? Go ahead. We know we're safe. Even the Weasel is a pureblood." Bole gestured dismissively to Ginny before pointing his thumb at Halle with a sneer. "The mudblood on the other hand…."
Halle whimpered and shot a terrified look at Harry.
"That's it you—" wand pointed at Bole's face, Harry was about to snarl an insult and send him to the hospital wing when he was cut off by a familiar, hated voice.
"Potter!" Professor Snape's voice filled the hall like a flash bang from Finnegan blowing up another potion. Snape stalked out of a small side corridor, robe billowing around his back like a cloud of black smoke. "Harassing other students I see, just like your father. If you cast a spell I'll see your wand snapped. One more word and your detention is doubled."
Everyone jerked around to look at Snape, giving Halle the chance to wiggle free, snatch up her scarf with a sob, and run away down the hall. The lingering Gryffindors followed her lead and scattered, leaving only Derrick and Bole on one side with Harry, Blaise, and Draco on the other. Theo had disappeared early on and Greg and Vincent gave a final peek from around the corner up ahead before running off, probably too scared they'd get in trouble to stay.
Harry glared at the pale winter sky outside the window and bit his tongue to keep from saying something that would get him in even worse trouble. It sounded like Snape had already decided to give him detention. Explaining that he'd been trying to help Halle was useless. Snape would never believe Harry's word over anyone else's; he'd just give him more detention for trying.
Snape gave Halle's back a single glance, eyebrow arching, before turning his long beak of a nose back in their direction. "Mr. Bole, Mr. Derrick, would one of you care to explain?"
Lips twisting, Bole crossed his arms and lifted his chin confidently. "We were just curious, Sir, and having a friendly chat with the little mu—muggle and asking her how she managed to sneak into Slytherin. That's when Potter butted in and tried to start a fight." He shrugged innocently.
"She's not a muggle, she's a witch!" Harry snapped, glaring at him through half-lowered lashes as the blood pounded in his temples. "And she didn't sneak in, she was openly sorted into Slytherin by the hat because she belongs here, same as the rest of us."
Derrick scoffed and Bole rolled his eyes. Snape didn't seem to care. Maybe he agreed with them.
Harry felt a pang of hate, not just for them, but for all bullies. His scar itched and it almost felt like a string unspooled from it to tie around his wand hand, urging him to move it up and through the motion of the worst curse he knew. It would be stupid. Harry was upset, but not enough to hex them right in front of a professor and risk expulsion. The string tugged enticingly on his wrist again, promising that if he made the motion with enough intent, speaking the incantation out loud wouldn't be necessary. He could get away with it; he could have fun making them hurt.
Harry wrestled with temptation, almost going through with it before finding the strength to shove away the impulse, too uneasy with the idea of enjoying someone else's pain. The hate in his head flared again. Harry shoved it away harder. No. He would not become the very thing he despised.
Hissing lightly, Snape clamped a hand over his forearm and rubbed hard once, as if trying to banish a deep ache before ripping his hand away as if burned. "Get to class. Now!" he barked over his shoulder as he disappeared down a side corridor, practically running.
It was strange, but Harry wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Snape had only implied detention, not actually assigned it. Harry was going to consider himself free and clear unless specifically told otherwise.
"Were we not paying enough attention to you, Potty? Have you been missing our time together, is that what your little outburst is about?" Bole sneered. "Or do you have a crush on the little mudblood? You do seem to have a type."
A roaring filled Harry's ears and he took a step forward, wand jumping back up into casting position.
"This is getting embarrassing, boys," Draco drawled, sauntering forward to stand in the space between Harry and his bullies.
Harry sent him a sharp look, but Draco didn't seem to notice or care, too busy staring down his nose at Derrick and Bole. "I'm rather surprised at how little you two know of your family history. It's shameful really." Shaking his head, he sighed and spoke slowly and clearly, "Miss Harper is a half-blood, not a muggleborn. Her family's not rich, it's true, but neither are the Boles or Derricks, especially when compared to the Malfoys." He curled his lip and put a hand on his hip. "Her grandmother was a Warren, making her a distant cousin to the Blacks, my mother's family of birth, as well as to the Selwyns and Ollivanders, all Sacred Twenty-Eight." Bole's mouth dropped open in clear dismay.
Harry wondered if that meant Halle's grandmother was related to Myrtle, since they were both Warrens. Maybe sisters or cousins?
Draco ignored Bole and turned to the suddenly frozen Derrick, tutting. "Isn't your grandmother an Ollivander? My father always said she had a nasty temper and no scruples when it came to someone insulting her family of birth, almost as bad as my own dear mother in fact. I'm surprised she approves of what you've been insinuating about the girl's forefathers, or did you not mention that to her over Christmas when she took you to task for jinxing me all those weeks ago and threatened to write you out of her will? Shall I have my mother send her another letter? Or perhaps mention it the next time they take tea? She quite likes me, even sent me a present for Christmas to make up for your deficiencies."
Not breathing, Derrick's eyes went so wide that the whites showed clear around the iris. His face turned a sickly green and he swallowed hard. When he spoke his voice squeaked and trembled. "No! That's—that's fine." He bowed to Draco several times and scurried backwards. "I apologize, again, for my mistake last year. Thank you for educating me and please—please forgive me, Malfoy, and please don't—don't say anything to my grandmother. Please." He stumbled sideways before turning around and racing off.
Frowning ferociously after his fleeing friend, Bole sent Harry a hard glare and Draco a fearful and unwillingly respectful one before following. Smirking gloatingly, Draco rocked back on his heels and watched them disappear.
A dull ache settled in on the same side of Harry's head as his scar. Stupid scar. Stupid bullies.
Blaise whistled. "Wow, I'm impressed, Draco."
"Thank you," Draco said with false modesty, polishing his knuckles on his chest. "Shall we continue on to class, Gentlemen?" He gestured forward, the motion making his eyes fall on Harry's face.
His hand stuttered and the smile on his mouth faded, though he didn't drop his eyes. "Well Harry?" Harry, not Potter. Draco sounded uncertain and hopeful, using Harry's first name for the first time since they'd argued over the diary weeks ago.
With a burst of insight, Harry realized that this was as close to an apology as Draco was likely to get. No wonder Harry had screwed up apologizing to Hermione if this was his model for friendship. His friends rarely apologized, just waited for things to blow over and then did something to show they wanted to be friends again, like standing up for you in front of a bully or pushing the largest dessert plate your way at dinner.
Relationships with girls were different, or maybe it was being a Gryffindor or even just Hermione. He wished he could fix things with the simple gift of a cauldron cake, but it was way past that now. Relationships were difficult. Difficult but...worth the aggravation. Friendship was worth it.
Pulling in a deep breath, Harry blew out his anger and pulled up the relief he felt at not needing to fight anymore. Holding grudges didn't do him any good. Things were always better when Draco was his friend instead of his enemy. Nevertheless, it still took effort to speak to him in a normal tone for the first time in weeks. At least he had a lot of practice with this stage of the friendship dance with Draco.
"Sure, and thanks for helping Halle." After all, nothing Harry had tried had done any good for the girl. Halle was as scared of him as ever and still being bullied about her supposed blood status. That though made him tired. Maybe Draco's words would bear more fruit.
Still holding eye contact, he nodded at Draco, ready to just move on. The corners of Draco's mouth curled up as he nodded back. Shoulder to shoulder, they started moving down the hall.
"Let's swing by the library and get those books we need so we don't have to come up later," Blaise suggested, falling in with them.
Harry shrugged. "Okay."
"So Harry," Draco drawled as they went up a staircase and down another hall, "the Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff game is this weekend. Have you talked to Granger yet?"
At the question, every muscle in his body went tight. "I'm getting to it. I have a plan, so just shut up about it or we're going to go back to fighting."
Before Draco could reply, Blaise pushed between them, slinging an arm around their shoulders. His growth spurt had hit recently, making him taller than both of them. "Boy does he. Harry's plan is written on a scroll thicker than my arm."
"What a coincidence. That's what your last girlfriend said about me," Draco said, shrugging him off.
Ignoring Draco's attempt at dirty humor, Harry felt his cheeks turn hot. "I'm not telling you about my plan until I'm ready. And Blaise's arm is scrawny so that's not a fair comparison."
"Not just his arm, she said," Draco added airily.
Blaise turned and ruffled up Draco's carefully slicked back hair. "Everyone knows you haven't done anything but kiss, and you haven't kissed anyone but your mom and Pansy. Pansy barely counts because she kissed you while you were snoring in the common room."
Rearing back, Draco put a protective hand over his hair. "Pansy's gross."
"You're being gross. Stop it," Harry whined.
"Fine, will your plan be ready by the game this weekend?" Draco smirked. "Or will you be asking Granger about bobbing fangfaces again and mumbling incoherently?"
Harry reached behind Blaise to pinch Draco's side, making him jump and squeak. "How about I give you a fang face?"
"How about you give it to Lockhart? Think even that would change his behavior?" Blaise pointed to where Professor Lockhart was strutting past a corridor near the library, only to backtrack and strike a pose, admiring his reflection in the highly polished shield held by a statue of a short knight riding a hairy hog that stood at the intersection. Sighing soppily, Lockhart started running fingers through his hair and making kissing faces.
"The git would probably claim his fang face came from a tragic battle with a vampire where he saved a bunch of baby unicorns and the girls would all believe him and keep on swooning." Harry wrinkled his nose in disgust.
Blaise snorted. "How much do you want to bet that by the end of the year he ends up in a love triangle with a mirror and a dark window?"
"No bet." Draco shook his head. "I can just see him trying to kiss his reflection one dark and lonely night, coming in too hot and accidentally falling out the window, only to tell Madam Pomfrey the next morning from his hospital bed that he'd fallen on purpose."
Harry rolled his eyes and chuckled. "Oh Merlin, I can totally picture that. Gross."
Laughing, Draco stuck a hand out at Blaise and arched his brow challengingly. "Two galleons on Lockhart going out a window before the school year ends."
"Done." Blaise shook his hand firmly. "That's a sucker's bet because his windows are spelled shut and I doubt he knows the incantation to reverse it."
Draco opened his mouth, paused, and then cursed, "Merlin's pants, I didn't even think about that. He really is that dim." He pouted.
"Too late," Blaise called over his shoulder as he continued on towards the library. "A bet's a bet."
As Harry and Draco followed him, Draco leaned over to quietly ask, "Hey Harry, if I need to describe this scroll of yours to Granger, should I say it's bigger or smaller than normal?"
Dodging Harry's outraged attack, Draco ran ahead and jumped into the library, slowing down and strolling past Madam Pince's desk with an innocent expression as if Harry wasn't drilling holes through his back. It got worse when he noticed Hermione sitting at a nearby table writing an essay. Draco paused behind her bowed head, tipped his head to the side, and pointed down at the long scroll she was writing on, looking back and forth between it and Harry with a steadily growing smirk that just begged for a smack.
When Hermione stopped writing and started to turn around to see who was hovering there, Harry's nerve broke and he fled the library. He had better things to do than stand around and let Draco keep teasing him to mend their friendship. Things like putting the final touches on his apology plan for this weekend and reviewing contingencies A-Z on his scroll again.
AN: Thank you to my beta readers! And thank you guys too for reading and reviewing! I'm so excited for the next chapter and Harry's apology plan. Woo hoo! It will be almost twice as long as this chapter too, so lots of content. Also, for those early reviewers asking me to tag the relationship in this story and being frustrated that I hadn't, I have to admit that I didn't even know that was a feature. I've been uploading stories since 2005 and that feature wasn't around in the early years. I had no idea what you were talking about, but I finally figured it out! So my stories should hopefully be tagged with relationships and not just characters now. As always, your comments fuel my writing fire. Thank you!
